Pieces of Me
by DarkFaerieNyroc13
Summary: After suddenly losing two of her closest friends in a car accident, high school senior Tenten restarts her life in a new city. But when ghosts from her past rear their ugly heads, who can she trust to turn to before she loses herself as well? High school AU. Pairing still pending.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello hello there. :)**

**This story marks the first I've written and published in about two years. Due to this fact, I'm incredibly excited. :)**

**This first chapter will give some basic information, but it's a little bit slow so bear with me.**

**Warnings: Tenten may seem out-of-character, and she may well be so. I apologize for this. Her thought process may also be difficult to follow.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, its characters, etc. etc. youknowthedrill. If I did, I'd be rich and wouldn't write fanfiction about it because the storyline would be just how I wanted it.**

**This story is written from Tenten's point of view. It's an Alternate-Universe, high school fanfiction. You no like, you no read.**

**Okay. That's about it. Without further ado, charge onward!**

* * *

Today is the twenty-sixth day that has passed since my life exploded into tiny pieces and burned itself at the stake, right before my eyes.

On day twenty-two, my mother and I got into the car and set out from our hot, dry little town in the Southwest. After 1,640 miles, 31 pit-stops, and 28 hours worth of driving, we ended up in the heart of a rainy big city forever-and-a-half hours worth of traffic south of Seattle. This is the city where my widowed grandmother lives. It's called Tacoma. I think.

On day seventeen, my mother called her mother. Explained the situation. Made arrangements. Told me I was going to go to the other side of the country to live with her. Told me to pack, because I was going to be living there for a while, because I needed to get out of this cramped little town, because I needed some bustling big-city air to get my mind off things. She didn't ask if I was okay with that.

On day sixteen, my parents had a chat behind their closed bedroom door. I was unruly/depressed/moody/needed to get away from this town. I was a hassle to get out of bed/unwilling to try to go back to my normal life/a complete and total zombie/suddenly lazy/moody/depressed/unruly. I guess they hadn't realized that, after eighteen years, our walls didn't suddenly/hopefully/magically turn soundproof. Their words hurt me in my gut, but my gut was too numb to feel it.

On day ten, I was admittedly a mess. I was spending my days in my room, staring at my ceiling, ticking the hours by with nothing but static in my head and emptiness in my belly.

On day four, my parents and I went to the funeral. I wore a black dress on my body and a black sneaker to match the black boot-splint on my foot. I watched them lower two caskets into the cold, dead earth. It was a closed-casket service. They had white roses and pale yellow tulips.

On day two, they released me from the hospital. My brain/ankle/arm/vital signs were functioning properly/hairline-fractured but splinted and set to go/stitched to perfection and bandaged/normal. They sent me home with prescription-strength painkillers for my cracked ribs, but nothing for my broken heart.

On day one, I slept for twenty hours. Dreamless.

On the day when the counting of days began, I got into the car with my best friend and my second-best friend after soccer practice, just like always. Temari drove. I rode shotgun. Kyoko was in the back on the driver's side. We were hot chicks with a plan for world domination and, after slushies from the corner gas station, $6.47 to make it happen. We were alive, laughing, listening to a CD of a local garage band with a bassist that we all had the hots for. Temari slowed down and stopped when a light turned red. Temari was a good driver. A great driver.

There was no way that any of us could have predicted that the car behind us wouldn't notice the red. We didn't expect to be slammed in the rear bumper and rocketed into oncoming traffic. We didn't expect to not walk away.

* * *

Band tee-shirt. Denim shorts. White shorts. Another band tee-shirt.

My hands tell me what things are and where they go as I pull clothing items from the box by my side. It's hard work, fighting back memories of the clothes I wore for three and one-quarter years during high school. My fingertips touch lace, and I look down. It's the skirt that I wore to my first-ever high school party, with purple fabric and a black lace overlay. It's a cute skirt, but painful for me to think about. That was the day that I met-

I drop the skirt like it's a hot coal and stand up too fast. The room immediately starts to pitch around, but I don't care enough to notice. I float out of the room with stars in my eyes and a dull ache in my belly.

Down the stairs I go, my bare feet padding along on the carpet. I already know that Gran is out by the lack of humming. That's okay, though; I don't mind being alone. I go into what I think is the kitchen and wind up in the den. I turn around and wander until I my feet hit the linoleum floor. My navigational system is still having difficulties adjusting to the change in setting.

I meander to the pantry and pull out whatever my hand touches first, and then head back upstairs to what has become my bedroom. It's sparse, of course; the would-be guest bedroom still has the simple wooden bed frame, white eyelet curtains, wooden night-stand that doesn't match the bed, and robin-egg blue paint job that has been there since before I can remember. Other than that, a new wooden desk, and the door to a closet that has the exact dimensions of a standard-sized coffin, there's absolutely nothing in here. Oh, except for the moving boxes.

I crunch into dry, uncooked pasta. My lip curls a little, and I close the box to set it on top of the desk. So much for my snack.

I lay down on the bare mattress, my head full of static and unpleasant thoughts. I can't face the boxes any more today. I close my eyes against the dull light bulb above my head and try to tune out the world.

* * *

The world is dark outside my window when I wake. Looking over at the alarm clock on the night stand, the red numbers indicate to me that it's some early hour of the morning. I squint and lean closer to make out 4:16 a.m. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. When my feet touch carpet instead of hardwood, I feel a brief sense of disorientation before I remember where I am. I frown and get out of bed. Frowning is something I do a lot these days.

I stalk downstairs to make coffee before I have a chance to remember that Gran doesn't believe in the power of caffeine. God Save the Queen. I curse in my head and stalk back up the steps, deciding to go back to bed.

I lay on the mattress for an hour before giving up on sleep and getting up. I rummage through a box of clothing until I find something that doesn't have any painful emotions attached to it. A pair of ripped jeans from the summer before freshman year slides itself onto my legs, and a plain red long-sleeved tee finds itself on my torso. I'm a little surprised that the clothes still fit, but whatever. I head back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Gran is up now, humming to herself as she scrambles eggs in a skillet.

Gran is the typical image of a grandmother. She's a little plump, but not fat; she just has a roll of love around her tummy. She draws on her eyebrows every morning and wears perfume and does yoga with her old lady friends. Her skin doesn't bag too terribly at her neck and around her arms, and she's got great legs. At least she has a vague grasp on a sense of style; today she's wearing a light blue button-down blouse and khaki slacks. Her hair is dyed strawberry blonde, and she keeps it short and choppy and spiked up in the back like a lot of middle-aged women. Her eyes are honey-brown, like mine. She's a pretty woman, overall; at least I know I get it honestly.

Gran looks over her shoulder and smiles when she sees me looking.

"Good morning, Sweetie," she says, greeting me. Her voice is medium-high alto and about as sweet as American Honey. Not that I've ever tried it, of course.

There's a pause, and then she prods me with "Did you sleep well?"

All I can do is nod because I'm not awake yet and I don't actually feel like talking. But, then again, I don't do much talking at all these days.

Gran sighs softly and hands me a plate of eggs and buttered toast with jam. I used to love it as a kid, but now I don't care as much. I eat it mechanically anyways, chewing the same number of times every bite. Chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew chew. Eleven times. A nice, rounded number. Once finished, I wash my plate in the sink and pick up the brand-new backpack that's by the door, filled with this school year's necessities. Everything in there is new except for my Spanish notebook, since I'm going to need it. Everything's new. New is good. New doesn't have painful memories attached to it.

"Do you want me to take you to school?" Gran asks.

I shake my head no. "I'll walk." My voice sounds a little different than it usually does, since I haven't said a word after the routine hellos when I got here two days ago. When I look over at her, she looks startled.

"Are you sure?" she checks, almost pleading. It's kind of a desperate recovery, but I can't hold that against her. "It's three miles. It won't take any time to get you there."

I shake my head once more and sling the backpack onto one of my shoulders, then the other.

"It's just three miles. I'll be okay."

"Do you want a bus schedule?"

"Gran, I'll be okay." I look up at her and give a little shrug as I take my cell phone from the counter and slide it into my pocket. I turn to go.

"Tenny," she calls. It's something I haven't heard since I was about twelve. "Be careful, Honey."

I look back at her and nod my understanding, then head to school.

* * *

**Thus ends chapter one.**

**Critiques are appreciated, if you'd be so kind. I enjoyed writing this, and hope that you enjoyed reading it. :)**

**Have a fantastic day, y'all.**

**-Nyroc**


	2. Chapter 2

**I warned y'all that I was the worst at updating in the history of ever. Seriously, it's right there on my profile.**

**...okay, so maybe it wasn't so bad this time. It could've been, like, a month and a half. Anyways, long story short, my computer's still dead and my mother lost her job (she's a graphic designer) so now she's doing a lot of freelance work on her computer. Since that's the case, I have far less access to it than I would usually. I'm giving you a bigger chapter this time to beg your forgiveness, and ask that you bear with me.**

**Disclaimer: I dis-claim Naruto and all of its characters; they belong to Masashi Kishimoto. Seriously, if I owned this stuff, I'd be rich and wouldn't bother with FanFiction, since I'd spend all of my time in my basement playing my personal Pacman game.**

**Really I would.**

**A huge thanks to my reviewers! Uchihas1010Hyuuga, DarkAnonymous324, and NarutoQueen. Y'all get cookies! :D**

**Anyways. Without further ado, here's chapter two.**

**...hehe. Rhyme. xD**

* * *

It turns out that school is not three miles from the house. With having to work around buildings, yards, houses, streets, and other things, it's almost five. I could have taken a bus or let Gran drive me, but I don't like riding in cars and I don't trust public transportation. Trains, planes, cars, busses, subways, and trolleys are all examples of things that could crash and burn and kill you.

No. I'll walk for now, thank you.

The school is big and looks modern in the front, probably from a recent facelift. I pull on one of the doors, but it's locked. All of them are. What's the point of having four sets of double doors if all of them are locked?

"It is the one on the far right."

The voice startles me and I turn to see a boy about my age, maybe younger. He's got a hideous bowl cut and thick eyebrows, both as black as an oil slick. His eyes are large, round, and framed by thick, long eyelashes. He's wearing a forest green tee, boot-cut jeans, and tennis shoes.

He saunters to the door he indicated earlier and pulls it open, his smile big and broad and blindingly white as he waits for me. I whispersay my thanks to him and duck under his arm to enter into the building. There are a handful of students in the commons, but not too many since I'm about an hour and a half early for school. A few glance at me and the boy behind me, but they go back to their business because I'm uninteresting/not their friend/insignificant/not as important as what they're doing/not as important as who they're talking to. I look around me for a moment before it hits me that I have absolutely no idea where I am or where I'm going to. God Save the Queen.

I slide my backpack off of one shoulder to pull out my class schedule. It's mostly the same as it was at my old school, with the exception being that instead of Physical Education I'm now taking Drawing. I have no idea at all how to draw, but it's the only class that fits into my schedule. Besides, drawing is new for me. New is good.

"Hey, are you new or something?"

I look up to find that the nice boy is still standing next to me, which is surprising. I thought he would have wandered away by now. I hesitate a moment before I nod my head yes, and he smiles his great big grin again. It's starting to weird me out.

"I thought so. I know everybody at this school, but I did not know you, and so I figured that you must not come around here often."

Okay, so he also doesn't use contractions when he talks. He speaks like a robot instead. I can adjust to this. Maybe.

He's still watching me. He's waiting for me to reply. I just shrug my shoulders at him and pull my backpack back onto them. His grin vanishes in an instant, and his mouth sets into a flat line. Great, now he hates me.

And then suddenly it's back, as blinding as usual.

"I am Lee, but everyone here calls me The Rock. I will help you find where you are going!" he declares. He props one hand on his hip and the other he holds in front of him in a thumbs-up sign. His teeth sparkle. I guess it's supposed to be impressive or something, but anyone who's trying to be The Rock and who isn't actually a movie star or a wrestler is someone who I don't usually associate myself with. Not that I've ever actually met anyone like that.

I stare at him, utterly speechless.

He holds the pose for another thirty seconds—seriously, thirty seconds—before he drops his arms back to his sides.

"May I please see your schedule?" he asks. His politeness is getting to me. I can feel it rotting my teeth out. But he's being nice and very helpful, so I hand the piece of paper to him. He examines it for a moment or two and then nods.

"Okay, follow me!" His voice is all but a shout. And it's not like I have much of a choice whether I want to follow him or not, because he grabs my arm and pulls me along with him. My stitches/ankle bones/cracked ribs burn and try to rip my skin/protest from their in-shoe brace/dissolve my side from the inside out as he tugs me along. I yank my arm from his grasp.

"I got it! Geez Louise!" I shout. I stalk past him, rubbing my arm as my skin tries to chew and swallow itself. He stalls for a minute before jogging to catch up to me.

"I did not think that you could speak," he says to me, a little too happy with himself.

I shoot him a glare and stop walking abruptly when the hallway splits. I can go straight, left, or right. I frown and look for an indication to where my locker should be. I have no idea how they number things here.

"It is this way," 'The Rock' Lee tells me. He just about skips down the hallway to the left. I grimace because I like the right better, but I follow him anyways. He leads me to a red locker with chipped paint and a door that doesn't close when I test it. I sigh, empty my backpack into it, and slam it shut with my hip. Lee looks impressed that I was able to close it. I try not to notice.

"Would you like to have coffee with me?" he offers, "School is still one hour and seventeen minutes away from now."

I ponder this and, since I have nothing better to do, nod my head. Besides, I still haven't had my coffee fix. I grab my purse and follow him out of the building and across the parking lot and jaywalk across the street and enter into a small coffee shop called Nin's Café and wait for a minute in line and order the first thing I see and wait for my coffee and pick it up and take it to a little booth in the corner and sit down. The cushion squeaks a little; it's fabric coated with spill-resistant stuff, but at least it isn't plastic.

Lee slides into the booth across from me, his big black eyes watching me expectantly. I can't think of anything to say, so I just take the lid off of my disposable coffee cup to let it cool. I'm surprised to find whipped cream on top.

"So, what is your name?"

The question catches me off-guard as I'm taking a sip and I become distracted with how to answer. Hot coffee sears the inside of my mouth and half of my esophagus. I cough and slam the cup down, sloshing more of the burning liquid over my hand. I'm on my feet in a second, yelping like a hurt puppy and clamping a hand over my mouth.

Lee is on his feet as well, and then he's gone. He returns momentarily with a free cup of cool water and some napkins. I gulp the liquid gratefully when he hands it to me and then watch with a guilty feeling in my stomach as he mops the coffee and whipped cream from the table. As he tosses the napkins into the trash can and walks back, I'm surprised to see that he's laughing quietly to himself.

"Are you all right?"

I nod this time because I'm prepared for his question, then give him an apologetic grimace. He lifts and drops his shoulders in a shrug and takes his seat. I'm a little more hesitant as I eye my coffee cup suspiciously. I'm afraid it will jump up and burn me again just out of spite.

…okay, so maybe not. But whatever.

Lee gives me a small sigh and takes a drink of his… smoothie. I didn't know they had smoothies here. I'm so jello.

"Are you never going to speak to me?" Lee asks. He sounds dejected now, as if I just crushed all of his hopes and dreams. I didn't even know that Lee could sound sad. Wow. This is a major revelation here.

"Tenten."

He blinks and looks up at me from his smoothie, which I presume to be some concoction of strawberries and bananas. "I am sorry?"

"Tenten," I repeat. "My name's Tenten."

Lee stares at me for long enough to make me feel exceedingly uncomfortable. Just when I'm about to start fidgeting to keep myself from rudely walking away, his superstar grin comes back.

"Tenten," he repeats after me. "That is a very nice name. I am honored that you have shared it with me."

I bob my head up and down in acknowledgement and take a sip of my coffee, now that it's not so hot. Once I get past the whipped cream, I'm greeted with the flavor of caramel and pecans. I love caramel in my coffee, but I hate pecans.

Let me repeat that.

I _hate_ pecans.

Like, with the passion of a thousand burning suns and a million screaming toddlers kind of hatred.

…anyways.

So, as I'm thinking of how much I hate pecans and how utterly disgusting they are, my upper lip is slowly curling upward and wrinkling my face into the same sort of look that I see picky children get when they're presented with Brussels sprouts. And as I'm thinking and my lip is curling, Lee is still watching me. I can see his shoulders shaking up and down in my peripheral vision before I can hear him chuckling quietly to himself.

"Do you not like caramel?" he inquires. He's reading the label on my coffee cup. Apparently it says _Dulce de Leche_, but since that's pretty much just sweetened condensed milk, I think this shop has it wrong.

I shake my head. "Pecans," I correct.

Lee smiles and nods his head at me. "If you would like a different drink, I would be more than happy to replace that one."

I shake my head no. "That's okay," I say, "I'll drink what I ordered." That was something that my good friend taught me. My friend Tem

No. Not going there.

So I fetch a spoon, scoop up some whipped cream with a caramel drizzle and chopped toasted pecans, and pop it into my mouth.

Lee watches.

Lee waits.

…okay, so I guess maybe this stuff isn't so bad.

You know, once you get passed the pecans.

"Do you like it?" he asks me. I shrug my shoulders once. It's tolerable.

Hot caramel-flavored coffee (with a bit of a nutty flavor, but it tastes more like hazelnut now) blazes a trail down my throat and splashes into my belly. I can feel it warming me from the inside-out, which is good because the air conditioning is blasting in this place. It reminds me that I forgot to go to our Thursday night Coffee Cartel meeting. It's this thing where my friends and I pick a random coffee shop and we each get a different drink and pass it around and taste it. Me and

No/bad Tenten/no/don't think about that/no/bad girl Tenten/no/no/scold/scold.

There's no more Coffee Cartel. There's just me.

* * *

We still have fifteen minutes to kill when we get back to school, but at least I'm mostly awake due to the caffeine I've consumed. There are a considerable amount of students in the school now. Not enough to be scary, but enough to make me a bit uncomfortable. I guess most people show up five minutes before the bell. Duly noted. I follow Lee into the senior hallway and stop when he stops. He taps on the shoulder of a girl a little shorter than me.

When she turns around, I see that her green eyes are set off by short strawberry-blonde hair. I think that maybe it could be dyed, but I'm not entirely sure. I know some people with some weird-colored hair that's natural. Anyways, her hairline is a little high so her forehead looks a bit bigger than normal. But her face is open and her smile is kind when she looks at me.

Then the rest of the group turns to look at me. My stomach/heart/spine fills with butterflies/begins to beat rabbitfast/turns to jelly.

"Everyone, this is Tenten," Lee announces. "She has just arrived here to finish the school year with us." The way that he clearly pronounces every single vowel and consonant is seriously starting to grate on me, but the others don't seem to mind so I guess it's something I can get used to.

"Hey there, Tenten." It's the strawberry-blonde with the green eyes. She gives a small wave in my direction, even though she's right in front of me and it would be much easier just to shake my hand. Maybe she's not a hand-shaker.

"Hey!"

"Hello!"

"Hi!"

The greetings come from the mass of people in front of me. It will be impossible for me to remember everyone's names. Suddenly they're all talking, introducing themselves. It's starting to make me dizzy, and I can feel my eyes are incredibly wide.

"Give the girl some room to breathe, wouldja'?"

The loud interjection, which I am eternally grateful for, comes from a boy who's wearing his dark hair in a high ponytail. He's got on a button-down shirt that's open with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he's wearing a black muscleman/tank top/wife beater underneath that, with the kind of jeans that skater kids wear and flip-flops that look both masculine and comfy at the same time. I have to admit, he's kind of attractive.

He steps forward, slips his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me away from the group. I can't help the blush that creeps onto my face. I've never walked with a boy with his arm around my shoulders, except my father. Besides, he's wearing some sort of musky cologne or Axe or something that makes him smell godawfully good.

I don't think that's a word, but you get my point.

"Sorry. They can be a little overbearing," he tells me.

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Then he looks down at me, and I realize that he's a half-head taller than I am. His eyes are dark. "So, it's Tenten, right?" When I nod, he continues with, "It's nice to meet you then, Tenten. I'm Shikamaru."

I bob my head a little at him, barely comprehending what he's saying.

No, let me amend that. Not comprehending what he's saying at all.

"Here we are," he murmurs in a sing-song voice. We've arrived at my locker. How on earth he knows where it is? Yeah, that's beyond me. Maybe he's, like, one of those really observant types.

"Thanks," I whispersay to him. He smirks and leans against the other lockers, his hands in his pockets.

"You're kinda shy, huh?"

I just nod to make things simple. I'm not actually all that shy. Well, at least that's how it used to be. I used to be really outgoing. I had, like, a million friends. Popular. Went to all of the sporting events. Vice-President of the Student Council. Involved in more extra-curricular activities that a normal human could juggle. Had a job that dealt with people and screaming kids on a daily basis. Lots of human interaction, you know?

Yeah, I guess conquering crowds is going to be harder now. Besides, I'm just now starting to notice how incredibly big this school is.

"Can I see your schedule?"

Shikamaru's voice pulls me out of the little bubble I'm in. I blink dumbly for a moment before realizing that the paper is in my purse. I tear through the sack and then present it proudly to the young man in front of me. He accepts it, frowns, and reads it carefully. Analytical. I've seen that look before.

…not going there.

Bad Tenten.

"We've got five out of eight classes together, even though study hall doesn't really count." He pauses to look up at me, making sure I'm listening (which I am) before he continues. "We have block schedules here, so today you'll have all of your A-day classes, which are the first four on your schedule. Each block is an hour and a half long. It can get grueling, so bring something else to do like a sketchbook or a word search. Lunch is during third period. We have the same class then, so I'll walk you through it if you'd like.

"Tomorrow is a B-day, so you'll essentially do the same thing, but with your last set of classes. Seventh period—er, it'll be second tomorrow, but we all call it seventh—is your study hall. We have a twenty-minute-long reading time so bring a book or magazine with paragraphs in it. No manga, no Cosmo. After that you can roam the school and ask teachers questions, which I suggest you do."

It takes me a minute to absorb all of this information, but after that I nod. I think I've got it. Maybe.

…maybe not.

Anywho.

Shikamaru hands back the paper. "You've got English first period, you lucky duck. You'll love the teacher. He sits there the entire time reading perverted novels and tells you to pick apart literature." He laces his fingers behind his head and yawns, "His tests are a drag, though. Super picky about every little detail."

His fingers tap against the locker behind his head, and then his lips tug into a frown.

"What a drag," he sighs, and then moves out of the way.

A young man who's probably a senior like me steps up to open the locker that Shikamaru had been leaning on. He's got dark hair that's somewhere between black and what I can only describe as mocha. It's long and tied into a ponytail at the bottom. He looks kind of like a girl. Or a fop, but from the eighties. See, he's got, like, a black bandana tied around his forehead. So he legitimately looks like he's trying the eighties look.

Seriously. He's wearing a light grey jacket and black acid-wash jeans that remind me vaguely of an inverted zebra. He's got another bandana tied around his ankle, though this one is white. And he's wearing black sneakers.

Let me repeat that.

He's wearing black sneakers.

There is absolutely _no_ guy in the world who can pull of black sneakers.

…well, actually, there was this one guy at my old school who wore them and pulled them off, but he also played like six rock instruments and was super skinny and suave all over the place.

Anyways.

Not only is this kid wearing black sneakers, but he's also pulling off the black sneakers. Like, he can totally wear them. It's weird. He's kind of hot, except for the weirdo long hair.

Eh, to each his own.

And then Shikamaru lights up like he's got this bright idea.

"Hey, Hyuuga."

"Hn." I think the boy at the locker just grunted at him.

"My friend here has English with you, and as you know, I'm going to be in the Arts building."

"Hn."

Again..?

"So I thought it'd be nice of you to walk her to her class. She's new."

"Hn."

Seriously? What the hell kind of a response is 'hn'? How does he even make that sound?

And then he looks at me, and I notice that his eyes are grey. Well, not grey. They're more like… like this yellowish-lavender-white color, kind of like milk. I've never seen that before. Maybe he's blind.

…Okay, he's obviously not blind. But maybe it's like some sort of pigmentation fail or something.

Eye dee kay. My bee eff eff Jill.

Ha.

"Fabulous." Shikamaru's voice interrupts my silent celebration of epic wit.

"Hn."

…seriously?

Shikamaru sighs again and mutters something that I think resembles the word 'troublesome' beneath his breath. He turns his dark eyes to me.

"Tenten, this is Hyuuga Neji, the most antisocial human being you will ever meet. Neji, this is Tenten. Play nicely."

The Neji boy hn-s again at him, then grabs his books, shuts his locker and takes off down the hallway.

"What a drag," Shikamaru mutters to me.

I sigh, grab a 5-subject notebook and a folder, send a thankful smile to Shikamaru, and hurry off after the Neji boy. It's not hard to pick him out of the other students, considering he's the only one who's tall enough to be a boy and with long enough hair to be a girl.

I catch up to him just before we enter what I can only assume is the English department's hallway. The walls are lined with statues of old dead men and posters with excerpts from stories and poems that are older than my great-great-great Aunt Mina. And trust me, she's old.

We don't talk, but he holds a door open for me so at least he's not a total jerk. Maybe.

And then I see the teacher.

God Save the Queen.

He's old and gross and wrinkly and looks like the kind of jerk who would prey on small children.

…_ew._ That's wrong on _so_ many levels.

I take an empty seat in one of the middle rows and wait for the bell to ring. I doodle in the margins of my notebook because I don't have anything else to keep me occupied.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed. :) Reviews and critiques are greatly appreciated!**


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